Good riddance.
Michael Jackson, an asshole with style.
1958-2009.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
A cool way to make money
Simply use this link to get to the website, create an account, and follow the instructions on the website. You spend about $5.00 for there credit thing but it's how they make their money anyway. With multiple prizes to chose from it's the best thing since induvidually-wrapped cheese slices!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Happy Day In Andriyanville
Universal Studios has finally announced Tremors 5!
Officially It's called Tremors: The Thunder Down Under.
Officially It's called Tremors: The Thunder Down Under.
Monday, November 3, 2008
WTF, Mate?
Seriously WTF! I was reading a World magazine today and noticed they had a blurb about the new High School Musical 3, at which point my next thought was Wait a minute, they're still making those shit-festivals? After the last two sack of soggy dicks that they call movies, I had a hankering to go burn my eyes out with petroleum to make me forget all the bullshit I just saw. I mean, who finances this shit-on-a-big-screen? I hate these sorry things. The only reason I ever saw them is because I was accidentally sucked in to watch (most of) them by two friends who absolutely love these movies. Sigh, it just makes me sad, kinda like the people who vote for Obama make me sad...
Thursday, October 30, 2008
I can't wait for my gold house and rocket car!
Barry O. was in town a couple of days ago. When you see the crowd on the news that actually showed up to listen to this guys bullshit it just makes you sick.
(Sigh... Sometimes I lay awake at night dreaming of bludgeoning him to death with a 2X4.)
(Sigh... Sometimes I lay awake at night dreaming of bludgeoning him to death with a 2X4.)
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
I just realised...
...That I'm gonna have to go the next 5 months with my ass sticking to the tiolet seat every time I want to take a dump.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Bullshit
I was cruising through the NRAs blacklist, and noticed some popular companies that support gun control. Thanks to the NRA, I will never again buy Ben & Jerry's ice cream, Levis jeans, eat a Sara Lee bread product, use Sprint phone service, have insurance by Blue Cross & Blue Shield or AARP. And of course that evil douche Britney Spears is on the list. It's good to know that I'm doing my part to Prevent Gun Confiscation. The downside is that two of my all time favorite actors- Micheal Gross and Sean Connery- are on the list. I'm not so sure I hate gun control so much as to put these guys on my shit-list.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
You might be a Democrat if...
...You think a turkey hunt involves a supermarket and a shopping cart.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Absolute crap
So our inbox has been literally flooded with junk mail this last week or so. There’s nothing worse than having to wade through chest-high crap mail to find that one e-mail your expecting, and it’s never there! It’s amazing what they spend there time and money on, sending you advertisements for credit cards and weight loss pills (there’s no such thing as a weight loss pill. If you want to lose weight, get up off your ass and exercise) to Viagra’s err, male enhancement. And not just the online ads, either. Our typical trip to the mailbox will yield a package of some sort, a Netflix envelope, two bills and four hundred pounds of wasted tree innards.
However, I can be spiteful to the two companies I hate the most (Viagra and the credit card people) by simply taking the Viagra info and stuffing it in the pre-paid credit card offer envelops with a note that says “Here, grow some balls”. Now that would be funny.
However, I can be spiteful to the two companies I hate the most (Viagra and the credit card people) by simply taking the Viagra info and stuffing it in the pre-paid credit card offer envelops with a note that says “Here, grow some balls”. Now that would be funny.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Tractor
I hate our tractor. It’s a 20-year-old pile of doggy doo with more problems than my brother Marcus. For instance, a typical day trying to use the tractor would go something like this:
We go out to try and use the tractor, whom I’ll refer too as Bertha, at a bright, sunny 8:00am. Three hours later we’re done looking for the key, which my little sister Leya (aka Coney) mysteriously got a hold of, out of the locked safe which we had the dog bury the combination and the key to in the back yard.
After the key is safely in our possession (they had to call in the Big Brother SWAT team), we go to Bertha to try and get her started. I sit down in the chair, put the throttle in the middle, pull the choke out, push in the clutch, put the key in the ignition and turn it to the right to start it. Then follows 15 seconds of chugging and wheezing, a brief start and my Dad cussing from somewhere under a cloud of smoke about how we (I) forgot to make sure there was gas in it.
We then have to lug the 5-gallon gas can over to Bertha, attempt to gas in the tank, spilling a crap load everywhere because there’s never a funnel around when you need one and my brother deciding it would be a good idea to check how much gas is in the tank with his lighter*, almost turning us into The Hindenburg: Part Two. Also, is it bad when the oil in a riding lawnmower looks like tar? Yeah, I thought so too, namely when Dad looked like he was gonna seize up and have a stroke right there. I tried to explain to him that changing the oil every 5 months on a regular use lawnmower isn’t nearly as bad as it sounds, as apposed to, say, every 6 months, though I don’t think he was buying it, partially because the oil had the look and texture of already chewed bubblegum, but mostly because of the steam issuing from around the band of his size eight cowboy hat.
Any time we want or need to use the tractor we have to try and get her started a good week in advanced, so we have time to get gas, change the oil, find the key, tighten the bolts, make minor repairs, replace the main belt and do the tractor dance(anything to get it started).
Then there’s the gas problem. She gobbles up gas faster than my friend Ron horks down potato chips while watching football. The tank itself is about 2 ½ gallons, and if you fill it up to the tippy-top, you might be able to go for, ohh, six minutes or so without having to gas up again. If they gave tractors an MPG rating, they would measure Bertha in the 1/32’s of a mile.
Which leads us to speed. If you drive downhill (with a tailwind), throw Bertha in 4th gear, put the throttle and the speed lever all the way up and bend down to make yourself more aerodynamic, you’ll be able to go slightly faster than walking speed. I tell ya, for being a smaller tractor, she must way about 5 tons. Maybe she needs to go on a diet. Or she’s pregnant. (Just what we need! A little ½ -HP push mower running around!)
One last piece of advice: If you’re gonna get a riding lawnmower, try and avoid the ones from the 18th century.
*Lighters are standard issue for us working rednecks, along with a spit cup and a Colt .45
We go out to try and use the tractor, whom I’ll refer too as Bertha, at a bright, sunny 8:00am. Three hours later we’re done looking for the key, which my little sister Leya (aka Coney) mysteriously got a hold of, out of the locked safe which we had the dog bury the combination and the key to in the back yard.
After the key is safely in our possession (they had to call in the Big Brother SWAT team), we go to Bertha to try and get her started. I sit down in the chair, put the throttle in the middle, pull the choke out, push in the clutch, put the key in the ignition and turn it to the right to start it. Then follows 15 seconds of chugging and wheezing, a brief start and my Dad cussing from somewhere under a cloud of smoke about how we (I) forgot to make sure there was gas in it.
We then have to lug the 5-gallon gas can over to Bertha, attempt to gas in the tank, spilling a crap load everywhere because there’s never a funnel around when you need one and my brother deciding it would be a good idea to check how much gas is in the tank with his lighter*, almost turning us into The Hindenburg: Part Two. Also, is it bad when the oil in a riding lawnmower looks like tar? Yeah, I thought so too, namely when Dad looked like he was gonna seize up and have a stroke right there. I tried to explain to him that changing the oil every 5 months on a regular use lawnmower isn’t nearly as bad as it sounds, as apposed to, say, every 6 months, though I don’t think he was buying it, partially because the oil had the look and texture of already chewed bubblegum, but mostly because of the steam issuing from around the band of his size eight cowboy hat.
Any time we want or need to use the tractor we have to try and get her started a good week in advanced, so we have time to get gas, change the oil, find the key, tighten the bolts, make minor repairs, replace the main belt and do the tractor dance(anything to get it started).
Then there’s the gas problem. She gobbles up gas faster than my friend Ron horks down potato chips while watching football. The tank itself is about 2 ½ gallons, and if you fill it up to the tippy-top, you might be able to go for, ohh, six minutes or so without having to gas up again. If they gave tractors an MPG rating, they would measure Bertha in the 1/32’s of a mile.
Which leads us to speed. If you drive downhill (with a tailwind), throw Bertha in 4th gear, put the throttle and the speed lever all the way up and bend down to make yourself more aerodynamic, you’ll be able to go slightly faster than walking speed. I tell ya, for being a smaller tractor, she must way about 5 tons. Maybe she needs to go on a diet. Or she’s pregnant. (Just what we need! A little ½ -HP push mower running around!)
One last piece of advice: If you’re gonna get a riding lawnmower, try and avoid the ones from the 18th century.
*Lighters are standard issue for us working rednecks, along with a spit cup and a Colt .45
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
There's nothing worse...
...Than discovering you've ordered your gunbelt 1 size to big, which means I'll have to punch one or two more holes in it.
Friday, September 26, 2008
"Gas shortage leads to fights, threatens football." Football? FOOTBALL!? They have gas crisis, and all they care about is football!? Who here gives an @!&% about football? Some of us have better thing to do than sit around all day long watching 30 steroid-using dipshits throw a inflated cow dick across a field, but the professional dumbasses over at CNN think it's The End Of Ze World! Are we that starved for something to report on? Have we really stooped so low as to start talking about how the lack of gas will delay 1, 1 football game?
We're a nation of morons, I tell you.
We're a nation of morons, I tell you.
A dark day, indeed
In December 2002, I founded The High Road forum dedicated to the advancement of responsible gun ownership. Recently, it was discovered that in 2006, the volunteer forum systems administrator, Derek Zeanah of Statesboro, Georgia, changed domain registration to himself. After he was confronted, Derek locked out all other staff from accessing the Web server administration and would not share even backup copies of its content. After failed attempts to peacefully resolve the dispute, it has become necessary for me to initiate a lawsuit against Derek Zeanah for the return of thehighroad.org domain name and the forum database.
I am seeking and would greatly appreciate donations to help with the cost of litigation. You can use Paypal (olegvolk@gmail.com) or send a check to:
Oleg Volk 3112 Chambley Ct Hermitage, TN 37076
All donations shall be returned if the lawsuit is ultimately avoided. You can also aid me by re-posting this appeal on your blog, forum or web site. My legal position is already endorsed by almost all of The High Road staff as well as Rich Lucibella, the founder of The Firing Line forum.
UPDATE: Derek's reaction was to disable The High Road forum all together. He also removed most of the staff who opposed him.
Help the Highroad. It is your destiny!
Guest blogging, part two
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Guns
I like guns. Anybody who knows me can tell you that guns take up 60% of my life(Life? Ha!).
I'm 14 years old. Most people my age are concerned about Girls, the latest fad, the punk @$$ emo-sh!t that passes for haircuts and clothes these days, along with making sure your boxer are in plain sight(policeman: Hey, you! Are you wearing concealed boxers? Teenage ass-wipe: Who, me?). I mean seriously, it is a felony these days to hide your unmentionables in your pants? Because I tell you, nobody gives a damn whether or not the typical dumbass adolescence prefers plaid or stripes. They both want to make me puke, so grow a pair and wear some real underwear that doesn't stick out like a sore thumb because you don't know what a belt is. Don't make the rest of us suffer because you are a dickwa, er, dumbass. These are the same idiots that would vote for Obama, and mistake Prime Time TV for entertainment.
Anyway, back to guns. Friends that know me longer than 30 minutes know that I prefer .40 S&W over the WonderNine and .45 ACP. The reason being that it is more powerful than the 9mm and has a better ammo capacity than the .45(no sh!t?).
I like to think of .40 S&W as perfection in a brass tube. And yes, I know that the .40 S&W goes Ka-Boom more than any other cartridge out there, and I attribute that fact to Glocks. Glocks have that large, unsuported case head that makes the cartridge blow up.
It pisses me of when I hear some moron talking about the capabilities of his Polymer WonderNine loaded with +P+ ammo. Given a choice, I would rather carry a Beretta 92 FS into battle with the possibilty of having to shoot someone twice, than carry a 1911 and knowing that I would only have to shoot the guys once. My father owns a Taurus PT100 in .40 S&W, and it is a blast(get it, BLAST?! Hee, I crack myself up.) to shoot.
I can't recomend the .40 S&W highly enough.
I'm 14 years old. Most people my age are concerned about Girls, the latest fad, the punk @$$ emo-sh!t that passes for haircuts and clothes these days, along with making sure your boxer are in plain sight(policeman: Hey, you! Are you wearing concealed boxers? Teenage ass-wipe: Who, me?). I mean seriously, it is a felony these days to hide your unmentionables in your pants? Because I tell you, nobody gives a damn whether or not the typical dumbass adolescence prefers plaid or stripes. They both want to make me puke, so grow a pair and wear some real underwear that doesn't stick out like a sore thumb because you don't know what a belt is. Don't make the rest of us suffer because you are a dickwa, er, dumbass. These are the same idiots that would vote for Obama, and mistake Prime Time TV for entertainment.
Anyway, back to guns. Friends that know me longer than 30 minutes know that I prefer .40 S&W over the WonderNine and .45 ACP. The reason being that it is more powerful than the 9mm and has a better ammo capacity than the .45(no sh!t?).
I like to think of .40 S&W as perfection in a brass tube. And yes, I know that the .40 S&W goes Ka-Boom more than any other cartridge out there, and I attribute that fact to Glocks. Glocks have that large, unsuported case head that makes the cartridge blow up.
It pisses me of when I hear some moron talking about the capabilities of his Polymer WonderNine loaded with +P+ ammo. Given a choice, I would rather carry a Beretta 92 FS into battle with the possibilty of having to shoot someone twice, than carry a 1911 and knowing that I would only have to shoot the guys once. My father owns a Taurus PT100 in .40 S&W, and it is a blast(get it, BLAST?! Hee, I crack myself up.) to shoot.
I can't recomend the .40 S&W highly enough.
D@mn club penguin!
Light blogging for the next week or so. My little brothers have a membership to club penguin that only lasts a month. You get the picture.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Not bad...
1 minute, 25 seconds
But not necessarily good, either. My worst nightmare, Death By Velociraptor!
(The list goes; Velociraptor, Drowning, Strangling, Stabbed, Shot In The Balls, and killed in any way, shape or form by Gun-Grabbing Liberals.)
PS: AD only got 1 minute, 22 seconds. but he's older than me, so that balaces it out. Not like the 3 seconds is gonna make that big of a differance before I become Velociraptor chow.
But not necessarily good, either. My worst nightmare, Death By Velociraptor!
(The list goes; Velociraptor, Drowning, Strangling, Stabbed, Shot In The Balls, and killed in any way, shape or form by Gun-Grabbing Liberals.)
PS: AD only got 1 minute, 22 seconds. but he's older than me, so that balaces it out. Not like the 3 seconds is gonna make that big of a differance before I become Velociraptor chow.
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